


blue lagoon

by anamustdie



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyday Life, Happy Ending, Lawyers, M/M, Out of Character, Romance, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamustdie/pseuds/anamustdie
Summary: Jaskier has blue eyes. Like the sky, like the sea, like the Blue Lagoon, like bubble gum ice cream, like a warm knitted scarf, like a cold flame, like blueberries, like sweet cream on muffins.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 18





	blue lagoon

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [голубая лагуна.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307679) by [anamustdie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamustdie/pseuds/anamustdie). 



> link to title collage: https://twitter.com/sayhitomazikeen/status/1242977012312166403/photo/1
> 
> I want to say again that up to this point I have translated only other people's works into Russian. And translating from Russian into English turned out to be a very difficult task. Therefore, I will accept criticism in any form, especially when it comes to my problems with the English.

If business sharks exist, then Julian Lettenhove is a litigation shark. He’s probably the only barrister with a loss rate of less than three percent in the United States. He carefully chooses the cases for which he undertakes, but his passion is brutal murders, serial maniacs and grand larceny. Most of the cases he handled were high-profile, and the guilt of his clients didn’t require confirmation in the eyes of the public. It seemed that everyone already knew that the crime had been committed by the defendant, but every time Julian managed to turn the course of events in the direction he needed. It’s not easy to reduce the term of imprisonment, bring the accused to house arrest or conditional imprisonment, get off with the payment of a fine. No, it's too easy. Julian Lettenhove seeks a complete drop of the charges.

Harsh, strict, ruthless to witnesses, cunning, he completely captivates the jury with his gentle voice, beautiful smile and touching waves of musical hands. Julian knows when a defendant needs to shed a tear or to lower his eyes guiltily to the floor, wear a blue tie instead of a red one, loose heart-warming curls, forgetting about perfectly combed hair. He knows people too well. Especially those simple ones who sit on the jury.

The public calls him the protector of terrible people who are dangerous to society, but he also has a rule - to take only those cases whose guilt is debatable for him. Because Julian wants a family, to have a person dear to him. And he won't allow the true perpetrators of crime to exist freely in society for the safety of this imaginary future.

Oh, how the journalists would howl, knowing that every Wednesday, Friday and Saturday as conceited as a samovar Julian Lettenhove awe chooses an evening dress. Decides which wig - auburn kinky or blonde wavy - will adorn his head. He does his own makeup. Not vulgar, no. Julian knows the line between bright makeup and vulgar makeup. And Julian also knows that he is handsome. And only emphasizes this.

And when all the preparations are completed, Jaskier wakes up. Julian envies him. Jaskier is open-minded and happy in his view of the world. He can smile at people, and they simply cannot help smiling back. The surrounding people are reaching out to meet him, because Jaskier is reaching out to them. He loves people, loves to enjoy them. Jaskier loves to love. Julian is not like that at all. He is respected, feared, appreciated, admired. But they don't like him.

Oh, how the yellow press would squeal with delight, seeing how Julian - no, Jaskier - smoothly leads his hips on stage, throws up musical hands, bends. How he sings. And then he goes out into the hall, slides between the tables and barely touches the shoulders of the enthusiastic men with his fingertips, who by this night want only one thing - that Jaskier would give them more of his attention.

But the press won't howl, won't screech. Because Julian and Jaskier are diametrical opposites. Nobody even thinks, this bright, active, loving boy in a long yellow dress, singing tender love songs and this cold, buttoned-up lawyer with a gut-piercing gaze is the same thirty-seven-year-old man. A very lonely man with a passive desire to change his life.

And now Jaskier is gently, slightly lisping, pulling out the chorus, like every Friday night and then makes a confident step forward, slipping into the hall. He circles around the men again. Teasing. He can touch them. But they are only allowed to look at him.

_“You’re the one who told me my hair looked better black_

_You’re the one who told me to never look back_

_You’re the one who asked me if I’m feeling ok._

_I said I’m fine It’s just a sitting down in the shower day”_

The men in the audience know that the songwriter is in front of them, and this makes the performance even more intimate. Because everyone knows that the man in front of them, wringing his hands, brushing away a tear, shamefully lowering his head to hide behind his hair and sighing heavily into the microphone, is not playing. No, Jaskier does not feel his character, does not put himself in the place of the narrator. He himself tells this story - honestly, without hiding, trying to cleared the one about whom he sings. Because when you really love or loved earlier, you cannot speak badly about your loved one.

_“Leave the room but you get caught in the rain_

_Know you should love him but it’s such a pain_

_Would have stayed if you’d had asked_

_But instead you just walk away_

_Walk around all nonchalant_

_We’ll wear our eyeliner if we want”_

Jaskier closes his eyes, squeezes the microphone. Doesn't cry, no. He is strong, only on the following lines his voice barely audible breaks.

_“Never say you missed her_

_Or that you snogged her sister”_

He sings sadly of love and escape, chips and cracks, bright green kitchens and booze. And asks not to leave him alone, in every song asks not to left him. And Geralt thinks that you need to be a complete idiot to leave this beautiful creature. He couldn't. Geralt is not stupid. He understands that the beautiful creature in front of him is not a girl, not a sophisticated lady. In front of him is a man, but created to be loved, protected, pampered. Not to be abandoned. A man who has never reached the farthest corner of the hall to touch his cheek with gentle fingers.

The song ends. And along with the silence, Geralt begins to breathe again. Not stupid? No, he's incredibly stupid. So stupid that he comes to every performance, sits in the farthest corner and enjoys. Observes just like everyone else. Because he’s no different from the rest of the people in this room. But he knows that each of those present will come home, or, without being patient, will close in the toilet stall and put his hand in his pants, imagining Jaskier next to him. Geralt is not like that. Geralt can't. Because Jaskier, this beautiful creature, deserves respect. He deserves to be enjoyed in the first place. For Geralt, the best delight is the happy face of this little flower.

Closing his eyes, Geralt exhales loudly and finally unclenches his palm, which is tightly wrapped around the glass of whiskey. Disappointment and melancholy at the end of the performance is overwhelming. He doesn't want to wait until tomorrow. A shadow falls on the table, but Geralt doesn't see it. Just feels someone else's presence. His eyes meet Jaskier's blue eyes. A man doesn't see their light in the darkness of his corner. He just knows his eyes are blue. Like the sky, like the sea, like the Blue Lagoon, like bubble gum ice cream, like a warm knitted scarf. Like all Geralt's favourite things.

And Jaskier smiles. He smiles broadly, a little embarrassed, and then, without asking permission, sits down on the chair opposite. He doesn't need to ask permission. Geralt is ready to give him everything.

“You come to my every performance,” Jaskier's voice is hoarse from the long singing, which makes it even more beautiful, “already two months. And you always sit here. I was hoping that by the end of the first week, you will move closer to the stage. I never get here, you know. And there I could sing beside you. I know you want.”

Of course, Geralt wants to. But not like that. Not here. There are too many people, but Geralt wants all this to be for him. He is selfish, but he simply cannot do otherwise.

And they talk. They tell each other their lives like they are close friends that they have not seen for so long. Jaskier talks about the dress, books, flowers, that he wants to go to the coast. Only not himself, but with a loved one. The coast is designed for families.

_“You'll have to wait a long time. Until you get married, until the child appears"_

_"A family starts with two people"_

Jaskier says that he cannot ride a bicycle, but he drives a car. Geralt does not have a car, but he has a bike that he made himself.

_"Wasn't it easier to buy a normal bike?"_

_“Roach is much better than all the Harleys. It has a soul."_

Jaskier laughs tonight. A lot, to the pain in the abdomen, to the burning sensation in the lungs from the lack of oxygen, not forgetting to beautifully cover his mouth with his palm. But it doesn't look caricature. Jaskier really enjoys it. And Geralt feels it. Therefore, they talk until the morning, and the next day Geralt comes again. He sits down in his farthest corner and watches as Jaskier sings, circles around the men. He is afraid that his yesterday's attention was only a one-time action, but after the performance, Jaskier returns to him again.

“Aren't you tired of me yet? Can I?”

Geralt watches as neat hands clutch the glass in embarrassment, and plump lips smile, hiding the excitement of the likelihood of rejection. And Geralt wants to hit the one who gave this little flower to attach to itself, without giving it in return, touched a childishly devoted, naive heart, made him doubt his importance; wants to scream that he will never get tired of Jaskier.

“How was your day?”

And Jaskier tells him. How he slept all day, how he woke up, because the cat jumped right on his stomach, as he cooked pancakes, but they burned, how he managed to burn the cake. And Geralt relaxes, because for another three weeks, six days, Jaskier circles, sings, makes people desire him, but then he always returns to a dark corner to Geralt. The man calms down because he knows that he is finally different from the crowd in the hall. Because Jaskier chooses him. He never sits at the table with others, but always to him. And always with the Blue Lagoon. As blue as his eyes. Blue, like all Geralt's favourite things.

And Jaskier also stops singing those songs that hurt him. Now he sings about saviours and saved, love and adoration, and also about torches of hope and the future. And Geralt feels that it is not in vain that he comes here every evening. Now he comes so that a smile illuminates his beloved face more often.

Jaskier knows that he is loved, wanted and not afraid. It was for this that he was created by Julian. To feel important and needed. It's just a little different with Geralt. Geralt is really interested in Jaskier. Not as an object, who circles around the room, into which you can shove a penis. No, Geralt is interested in Jaskier himself - not only in his body. And this is captivating. For three weeks, Jaskier feels incredible delight and anticipation of another working day. Because he knows that after the performance he will again go to that dark distant corner, he will be able to talk with Geralt, listen to hoarse laughter, and barely touch his hand with his fingers. Geralt does everything for his pleasure, and Jaskier decides to please Geralt.

“Why didn't you come down from the stage to the hall today?”

Jaskier hides a smile behind a glass, he doesn't know how to explain to a man that he no longer wants to. He doesn't want to touch a single guest in this room, to catch their looks of lust on himself. He is no longer attracted to the idea that he is attractive to them. The desire to be in the spotlight, to get as much adoration as possible, though it did not disappear, but greatly diminished with the advent of Geralt. No, Jaskier wants to feel the touch only one hands and one gaze of yellow eyes.

“You don't like it when I touch them.”

And this quiet whisper causes a hurricane of emotions inside Geralt. Basically - children's delight and happiness.

“Come with me,” plump lips stretch in embarrassment as Jaskier holds out his palm. And Geralt is surprised again. Because no one can touch Jaskier, but he was given this permission. A question splashes in bright eyes. “Do you trust me?” and Geralt takes Jaskier's hand, gets up and follows.

Jaskier leads him to the dressing room. He lets the man go ahead, walks inside after him and closes the door. He walks up to Geralt, puts his palms on Geralt’s shoulders and gently kisses. Gently, barely touching, until he finally realized what Jaskier was doing. Strong arms wrapped around the waist, forcing him to bend slightly, and the man made the kiss more intimate. Jaskier grabs his hands on Geralt’s neck, like a life buoy, buries his fingers in Geralt’s long hair, feeling how Geralt envelopes his body with ether, penetrates the skin.

“Jaskier, wait,” Geralt looked up from his lips, which were swollen from the kiss.

“Don't you like me?”

Geralt couldn’t imagine how Jaskier could be disliked by someone. Whose heart will he not touch?

“I like you; I like you so much, but-”

“Then shut up, White Wolf, because I really want to.”

Could Geralt refuse him? Of course not. Because Jaskier, who belongs only to him, was his greatest desire. Geralt could finally kiss this neck, shoulders, scratch the bones of the collarbones with his teeth and listen - hear - that Jaskier is pleased.

The sofa in the dressing room is narrow and uncomfortable, but Geralt thanks all the gods, goddesses, Ikea, because Jaskier has to straddle his hips. Face to face. Geralt watches as he bites his plump lips, trembles slightly when a prostate touch, digs his musical fingers into his broad shoulders, leaving traces, and he thinks that there is hardly anything more beautiful in the world.

“I can’t, I can’t take it anymore,” Jaskier whimpers, closing his eyes tightly.

And Geralt neatly changes their places, arranging the guy on the couch. He puts Jaskier with his lower back on the edge of the sofa and, spreading his slender legs, gently pushes. Geralt moves gently, not crazy but smoothly moving his hips. But Jaskier couldn’t even think that such slow sex even happens. He likes. He feels loved and never a whore. Geralt bites his thighs, covers his knees with tender kisses, and Jaskier almost faints, being on the verge. He came without hands for the first time. Geralt came after in a condom.

Jaskier breathes heavily until Geralt sits down on the sofa beside him and pulls the quivering body toward him. He climbs onto Geralt's lap, wraps his arms around his neck and pokes his nose into the hot shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm just going to sit like that, okay? I'm sorry, I'll just sit for a little bit.”

Geralt laughs quietly, hugging Jaskier behind his naked back, closing his eyes. He feels good until he realizes that the guy (which means "guy", idiot? you know his age) is crying.

“Little Flower?”

“You are so wonderful,” whispered Jaskier loudly, burning the skin with hot breath. “You are so very wonderful, Wolf.”

Jaskier was ashamed of his weakness. He didn't want to be the one who cries after sex. But he didn't know how to tell the man that no one had ever made sex so delicious for him. Those few partners just fucked him - it hurt, roughly, like a slutty girl. And there was nothing more important for Jaskier than feeling that Geralt wasn’t holding back. Geralt just wants to please both of them. Geralt loves him, not fucks him at once.

Until Wednesday, until the next shift, Jaskier survived with difficulty. He lived to see the empty space where Geralt always sat before. He convinced himself that the man just had things to do, that they simply ran out of money, because they were not a cheap establishment. He convinced himself that Geralt hadn't fucked him and then left. But on Friday and Saturday something was breaking inside him. Because the place was still empty. Because Geralt just fucked him and then left.

It didn't hurt. It wasn’t a shame too. There was only a strong longing for their conversations, a gentle smile and wide palms. And also, all-consuming anger at himself for weakness and yet another groundless' trust.

Jaskier is gone. Only Julian remained. Not that he was hyperemotional. Just losing Geralt and his attention was too much. And there was not much time. On Wednesday, such a difficult day for Julian, he was approached by a lawyer for a large design firm, which was accused of tax evasion and some other stupidity. Julian didn’t listen attentively. He didn't care what to do, just to get distracted. Julian didn’t understand why his presence was in court, because the case wasn’t worth a damn - anyone would have done it. But he got down to work anyway. The court session was scheduled for the following Tuesday. Too fast for a case that nobody falsified. And the man sat all week for the documentation, minimizing thoughts about his personal life. And this gave him the opportunity to breathe in again deeply.

And everything was almost fine until, right in the courthouse, the firm's lawyer introduced him to the second representative of the company, his employer.

“Mr. Lettenhove, vice president of the company, expressed a desire to be present in the courtroom. This is Mr. Bellegarde.”

The bright brown eyes were cold. And such beautiful broad shoulders were dressed in a strict black suit and were unusually hidden from Julian's eyes. But despite the seriousness of the face and situation, it was still his Geralt. Inside, everything went cold again as he forced himself to return the handshake. Because he had never seen Geralt so indifferent to himself.

He vomited right in the loo. In the damn courthouse loo for damn Geralt. He was shaking, he wanted to cry like the stupidest child. And while washing his face, Julian could not remember when he managed to become so stupid and so attached after only three weeks of communication and one sex. The most interesting communication and the coolest sex in his life.

Opening the window, Julian breathed in the fresh air deeply. Now he will collect his thoughts, take the balls into a fist and bring this trifling court case to the end. It will be easy, very easy. If don't look at Geralt. Never look at him again.

Dull footsteps and the sound of a closing door were heard from behind. Julian slammed the window. He's fine, he's not Jaskier. Jaskier liked Geralt. Jaskier becomes attached to people, needs attention and love. Julian doesn't care about men, women and relationships. Julian lives by his work. He turned sharply to catch his eyes on the broad figure. The thought flashed through my head that no, he is weak, head over heels in love like a teenager who wants this man and a relationship with him.

Geralt left a distance of two steps between them and stopped, carefully examining Julian.

“I should have warned.”

“Excuse me?” Julian's voice was calm and he mentally praised himself for his amazing resistance to stress.

“I should have warned that I was having problems.”

“I was warned by your lawyer,” Julian laughed almost hysterically, looking up from the windowsill.

“I had to do it right away, Julian, so that you don't think my absence was your fault.”

It seemed to Julian that his legs had become wadded, and he again leaned on the long-suffering windowsill. No, they couldn’t recognize him. He was always in makeup, wig, dresses. He changed his face with the help of cosmetics beyond recognition.

“You are probably confus-”

“Next time, take off your rings. And change the smell.”

“But Jaskier, he... I mean, I... Oh, Lord... Another me don't use cologne.”

“Exactly. And you didn't use it again today,” Geralt smiled tenderly, spread his arms slightly to the sides and exhaled loudly. “You smell like home. And I miss you so much, Little Flower.”

Julian let out a soft, plaintive groan. Or whine. It is unlikely that he could describe this sound in words. And Geralt watched as fear, sadness, misunderstanding, joy and happiness were mixed on his own face. Julian took one timid step forward, and then fell into his arms, as in the warmest and softest bed.

Julian clasped his broad waist with his hands and buried his nose in Geralt's neck, feeling a gentle and much-needed kiss on his temple.

“I missed you so much, Wolf. I really thought I wouldn't see you again, that it was all for, umpf, for-”

“I know. I'm sorry that I let you feel bad. Let's finish and drink the biggest caramel latte? I promise a lot of cream, cookies and marshmallows.”

Julian looked up from Geralt's chest, bumping into a gentle gaze.

“I only mentioned this once. Long time ago. Do you remember?”

“Sure. Let's go to the park. Will it cheer you up?”

“You don't like parks.”

“It doesn't work that way, Little Flower. You like it - I do it.”

And Julian again buried himself in the hot neck, feeling the long-awaited calmness.

Because he finally came home.


End file.
